Invitation: Where Delight Takes Flight

In a deep meditation, I ask for a glimpse of the future and what it can be, should I choose to invite it in. What I see is a world where my delight takes flight, a sense of lifting up and loving deeply. I see ways of being that I’m not used to, and finding a man who likes sitting on the floor with me is…different.

We are in a house where I live with this man. I don’t really see his face, but I’m very aware of his presence. It’s as if I catch glimpses of him—his hand, his shoulder, the corner of his smile, a fleeting emotion. It’s not as though I see him with human eyes but rather like with little zaps of energy all around each other. It’s most like those oldfashioned flashcubes going off in the dark and whatever I see at the moment of the flash is what’s there and nothing beyond. Except that these aren’t flashes in the darkness but in the light.

The need for love is strong in both of us—I can feel it in him and in me as well—and a little reassurance goes a long way.

This is our space, and we share it, and there’s a feel of it being new or much newer, as if it’s just been built or just renovated to reflect the two of us.

There’s a feel of lightness and light here. A sense of open fields somewhere farther outside of here, and green oaks with roots that connect deeply into Mother Earth.

This place is a mix of civilization nearby and the serenity of home and love, protected, nurtured within these walls and in the gardens outside. This place feels so uplifting…or maybe it’s just the two of us together.

One of us has just come home from work or from a meeting. I’m not sure which one of us, but there’s definitely a feeling of coming home for one of us and the excitement that the other has just come home.

There’s delight in seeing each other.

He hands me a drink—he’s made it just for me—and it tastes of raspberries. I’m not sure if it’s alcoholic or a smoothie, but I think it’s alcoholic because of the fancy little glass it’s in that looks like a triangle. Whatever it is, it’s not something I have been known to drink in the past. This is new in my life.

I notice his hand, too, and the glass in his hand. He wears a bright gold band on his ring finger, and the light catches it and it glints, and I’m surprised. There may be Celtic symbols on it—I’m not sure—but it’s the shine of it that startles me.

He’s married, to me I suppose, though I’ve often joked that my next wedding ring will be tattooed on.

But this is gold and it’s bright gold.

We sit on the floor in what must be the living room because there are sofas and chairs, but rather than sit on them, we lean against them as we sprawl out loosely draped over each other. We drink our cocktails and speak of all the new things we’ve seen and thought and done today and share our dreams and then, somehow, there are long lingering kisses….

There is sometime later when I am at my computer and he is at his, each of us working separately but every so often, we look up, catch the other’s gaze, and smile.

There are times, too, when we are watching TV, me perched on a comfortable chair or sofa with my laptop and him with stacks of papers scattered on the floor, him in jeans, a T-shirt that’s taut over his biceps, and bare feet. We’re busy but content, half-watching TV, occasionally working, and happy just being in each other’s presence, nothing else required.

And there are times when he loses interest in TV, his work is done, and he sits at my feet and rubs them.

He wears a black collar—vinyl perhaps…he doesn’t

seem to like leather so much—with a silver ring in it that does not at all match the band on his hand but he’s smiling all the same and doesn’t really seem to care that much for others’ thoughts on fashion.

And there is some time after when I am again sitting on the floor and we’re semi-watching a movie on TV, his head in my lap, his cheek against my outer thigh as I stretch out my legs, cross my bare feet, and play with his hair until he falls asleep under my touch.